


Ben and Rey Figure It Out

by kalx58



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Breast Play, Choking, Come Marking, Dirty Talk, Dominant Ben Solo, Dry Humping, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Light Dom/sub, Non-Penetrative Sex, Rough Sex, Spanking, Submissive Rey (Star Wars), banging my gavel: they are in love, big dick sick fic, don't worry rey ben has lots of creative ideas, graphic design is bazine's passion, initial dislike, plot hinges on a one off ben/bazine hookup, real life ramifications of getting railed, soft and freaky, some of the schmoopiest stuff I've ever written?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26433115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalx58/pseuds/kalx58
Summary: Rey finally gets together with her good friend Ben. But then something happens.When the door opens, she tosses the heating pad to the side, hurtling herself at him, burying her face in his soft sweater. “Ben, your stupid giant dick broke me,” she says, bursting into tears. “It’s hurt all day and I thought it would go away, and I really want to keep doing this with you, and it felt so good then and I’ve wanted this for so long, and I like it like that, but it’s never hurt like this before—”He folds his arms around her. She hears a crinkle of plastic as they shift.“Did you get me flowers?” she wails, sobbing harder.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 115
Kudos: 612





	1. Chapter 1

The clomp of his feet on the stairs is the same. The way she pulls the door open to greet him is the same. The way he smiles at her when she opens it is the same. 

But the way Ben steps forward, after a half-second of hesitation, to pull her against him, the way Rey wraps her arms tightly around him, the way she’s more aware of his body than she’s ever been, the way his eyes are looking down at her and promising things involving beds, a toothbrush at his house, a change to her usual introduction of “my friend Ben”—that’s all different.

“You’re not too tired from your flight?” she says quietly, heart thudding, anticipation twisting in her gut. 

“Nope,” he says, also quiet. “I know it’s early, and I have to go soon. Do you still want to—we don’t have to. Now.” 

It’s so early. The sunrise peeks through her curtains. “I still want to.”

Yet neither of them move. They just stand there, reveling in how openly they can hold each other now. She feels the muscles in his back, hears his loud heartbeat next to her ear.

She lifts her head, sniffing. “You smell minty.”

“I brushed my teeth at the airport.”

She smiles at him. “That was very conscientious.”

But he didn’t get a chance to shave. The hair on his face scrapes against her skin when she lifts her head even more, to brush her cheek against his jaw. And that reminds her: she finally, finally, finally gets all of Ben. His stubble and his hands and that mouth. What is she waiting for? And so she moves her hands upward, to card through his hair (as soft as she’d thought) and pull him down for their first kiss. 

* * *

Something lights up in Rey the moment Bazine throws herself into the chair in front of her, leans forward and says conspiratorially, “Guess what I did this weekend.” I’ve made it, Rey thinks, as Kaydel—publicist at OS Press, the other person at their kitchen table—asks Bazine, one of the company’s graphic designers, for details. I’ve suffered through the internships, paid my dues, and now I have a title, business cards with my name on them, and my coworkers like me enough to gossip with me.

Bazine peers around anxiously and starts peeling the lid off her yogurt. “I slept with Ben,” she whispers. 

Kaydel gasps. Rey doesn’t understand the significance at first. Then she remembers what her boss Luke had told her on her first day two weeks ago, as he pointed to the empty chair next to hers: “My nephew Ben—Leia’s son—is the other acquisitions editor. You won’t meet him for a few weeks since he’s out for vacation and then going to New York to find some new ideas. You can ask him whatever questions you have, but I have a feeling you’ll catch up to him in no time.” 

“What? I thought he was on vacation?” Kaydel says, putting down her own yogurt (vanilla, made from coconut milk.)

“He came back for a night after his vacation, right before he had to fly to New York for BEA.” Bazine digs her spoon through her full-fat Fage, settling into her story. “I was out downtown with some friends, and we went to Mad Oak—you know, with the $5 Greyhounds.”

Rey nods, eager for something to contribute. “I love those.”

“They’re so good. So I’m waiting at the bar, and I notice Ben in front of me. And then I realize how big he looks compared to everyone else, and how fucking wide he is—”

“He’s always complaining about the chairs here,” Kaydel says, nodding. 

“And he’s usually pretty quiet, but I was maybe a little drunk, so I started talking to him, kind of teasing him about how he always wears black and looks so grumpy. Blah blah blah, I asked him to go home with me. And so we went back to my place, and started, you know, and it was the most surprising thing, because—”

“Hello, ladies,” a strong voice says to them, as Leia, president and final decider of everything at Organa Skywalker Press, walks into the kitchen. All three of them turn to greet her. Rey admires how unembarrassed Bazine looks as she starts talking to Leia about the new cover she’s designing: “I really think the color we’re using is going to pop. It’s such a simple design that I think it’s really going to catch your eye when you’re browsing Amazon…” 

“I’m excited to see it,” Leia says, as the kettle heats. She pours water into her mug and walks out. “Kaydel and Rey, see you at the meeting later.”

They say goodbye, and turn back to Bazine, who’s already continuing her story. “He was like, super bossy. And kinda rough.”

Rey’s ears perk. She likes bossy. And rough.

“Huh,” Kaydel says. 

“And that’s not my thing. I wanna be fucking...worshiped,” Bazine says. “Like, if I wanted to be told what to do, I would call my mom.”

Rey doesn’t say anything, taking a bite of her nonfat Trader Joe’s Greek yogurt. (She’d tried their new peanut butter and jelly flavor in a sad stab at zhushing up her usual routine. It’s disgusting.)

Kaydel snorts. “I mean, was it bad?”

“No, actually. I told him I wasn’t into it and he stopped that part immediately. He made me come and didn’t like, Animorph back into the rough stuff later.” 

“Maybe he was overcompensating,” Kaydel suggests, dropping her spoon into her empty cup. “He is one of like, two men, in a very female-dominated profession.” 

“Well, that’s the thing,” Bazine says, suddenly quieter, eyes flashing with the promise of something scandalous. 

Rey and Kaydel dutifully lean in. 

“He wasn’t overcompensating. At least not in the usual way.” Bazine waves a hand over her crotch vaguely. “He was huge. Like, almost too big.”

“I see.” There’s a morphing, contemplative, somewhat affronted look on Kaydel’s face, like she’s working through a lot of mildly-upsetting new information. Rey just wonders how she’s going to make eye contact with this guy whenever she meets him. 

“Afterwards, he was super guilty, I guess since we work together and it’s his family’s company? He was all, ‘This can’t happen again,’ very dramatically. I was like, dude. I don’t think we’re compatible. And B, I’ve worked here longer than you have. So it’s whatever.” 

Kaydel shakes her head. “Your life is so much more interesting than mine.”

“Well, next time you have to come out with us. You too, Rey.” 

Rey smiles at her. “Hell yeah. We can get Greyhounds.”

Kaydel and Bazine start talking about something else (could Bazine pull off a pixie cut? The grow out period is awful, Kaydel warns) and as Rey finishes her yogurt, she finds herself wondering what the mysterious Ben Solo, who enjoys the same things she does, is like. 

Turns out: he’s an asshole. A huge asshole, she finds out a week later, when he returns. She’s just finished presenting her latest idea, a cheap book on for houseplants, aimed at millennials. 

“No,” Ben says as soon as she finishes talking. He doesn’t even bother with the polite “hmmm” Rey thought you were legally required to use before saying anything negative at work. 

Rey looks at him. They’d met for the first time before the meeting. Like Bazine had advertised, he’s tall and wide, with a mop of dark hair and full lips. Rey had wondered briefly if it'd be weird, working with someone she found so attractive, as she’d filed into the meeting. 

She’s not worried about that anymore. Her focus now is staying calm as she tries to politely defend her idea. “I know it’s a slight departure for us—”

“Who would buy this book?”

It’s not like she expects every idea of hers to be fawned over. Her job as an acquisitions editor is to come up with more book ideas than they could ever publish. But even in all her internships, she’s never been so quickly dismissed. 

“Like I mentioned, I think this could work for teens and twenty-somethings. If you look at the Google trends report I showed, or the hashtag ‘plantmom,’ I think there’s a big potential audience.” 

He leans back in his chair, his arms—the ones she had thought looked so nice and big, briefly imagining him doing all the things Bazine had hinted about—folded across his chest. “Google Trends data is bullshit. Why would we spend all this money on a demo that doesn’t even buy books?” 

“We wouldn’t have to hire a name, we could just find someone to do it quickly and cheaply and—”

“And what, we’d have to do a photoshoot?”

“Could I finish my—” She flushes, embarrassed at her annoyed tone. She’s trying hard to be professional. She breathes in, pivoting her body away from him to the rest of the people at the meeting. “I didn’t put this in my presentation, but there’s a lot of public domain botanical art. It’s pretty trendy, and I think Bazine could do some cool stuff between that and some stock pictures.” 

“We could get it into Urban, maybe. A parent could buy a planter—I think they sell those there, right?—and a book for their kid,” Leia says, nodding. “Also, nurseries, maybe?”

“This nursery in LA has 750,000 followers on Instagram,” Rey says. “They could also be good for promo.” 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed a lot of plant influencers. Also, the bookstagram crowd always has a ton of succulents. I could also tie it to the New York Times article Rey showed about houseplant sales,” Kaydel says. 

Ben looks at Luke. “Am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea?”

“I think it’ll be a solid, midrange pick for the spring list,” Luke says serenely. “Send me the P&L. Good job, Rey. Ben, tell us what you found at BEA.”

The book ends up being a modest success, selling more copies than they thought. And Rey’s opinion of Ben doesn’t change. He just seems so constantly frustrated—yelling at Luke, loudly complaining about an author blowing their deadline—like he’s annoyed about every single part of their job. The job she loves, that she’s worked her ass off for. (When Rey becomes a titan of publishing, she’s going to outlaw unpaid internships.) 

He yells at his authors, she gently tugs and coddles hers to the finish line. He looks for a long time—judgily, she thinks—at her mug warmer. (Sometimes she gets too excited about a new idea and forgets to drink her coffee before it gets cold.) She doesn’t ask him for advice, like Luke suggested, but once, when she’s struggling to change her chair’s height, he leans over to adjust it without saying anything. She gets a whiff of his smell and refreshes her email with vigor. 

“How did you find that,” he mutters to her after one meeting, where she’s just gotten the green light to start pursuing authors for her latest idea, a guide to gender reveal parties. (She’s not quite sure about how she feels about the parties themselves, but she already knows the book will sell a ton of copies.) 

She tells him. “Pinterest?” he says, incredulous, and she doesn’t think anyone has ever said that word with that level of intensity. She can’t tell if he’s impressed or disapproving. He almost seems surprised by how many ideas she has, which is annoying. What, does he think she’s not good at her job? She takes great pleasure in the times when she gets to turn his ideas down, for a change.

“I think we should think about moving away from diet books,” Rey announces, after sitting through his monotone, emotionless presentation about a potential celery cleanse book. “I was just reading about how more and more younger people aren’t embracing diets like their parents did.”

Something tenses in his jaw as he looks at her. “Those aren’t our customers,” he says, sounding irritated. “Our customers are people at Costco or on Amazon who feel bad about their bodies.” 

“Maybe,” Rey says, matching his tone, gritting her teeth. “We could have other customers.” 

“If you look at the data—”

Data, data, data. He always wants more data, which is the opposite of her more instinctual approach. He only supports her middle of the road, totally-safe ideas, the ideas with a neat Excel sheet of similar, good-selling titles. And yes, comps are important, but they also hired her for her creativity and fresh ideas, she seethes, which he always seems to find issue with. 

“None of your comps are impressive,” he says, looking at her spreadsheet for her latest idea (witchcraft for teen girls) before their meeting one day. 

“It’s not always about the metrics.” 

“Yes it is, Rey.” 

She takes a deep breath. If we were in my bedroom and you were this condescending, I would love it, Rey thinks, almost amused at the thought. He’s still attractive to her. His hotness is just an established fact now, like how long the warehouse takes for reprints, or how Bazine refuses to be the one to make coffee in the morning, always wheedling someone else into it. But they’re not in her bedroom. And since they’re at work, she instead wants to sweep the stack of PR copies on her desk onto his gigantic feet, as punishment for being such a constant downer.

She complains about him to her roommate Rose, who listens and nod patiently, even if she’s a little confused. It’s more satisfying to rant to Bazine, who, despite her hookup, is firmly on Rey’s side.

“Fucking nepotism,” Bazine growls, holding her empty glass and shaking it angrily, so the ice rattles, telling Rey how Ben just showed up one day at the office and started working there, after working in some totally unrelated field. Rey sucks down her gin and tonic as she listens, angry that Ben has a cushy family job to crash land into, while she’s had to work so hard for everything. 

When Rey leaves OS Press a year later—there’s only so much opportunity for advancement at a small, family-run indie publishing company—she leaves with increased confidence, a handful of successful titles and new friends. Her interactions with Ben never really thawed, but they’re both professional enough to have settled into a functional working relationship. Still, it surprises her when he shows up at her goodbye drinks. (But then again, one of the most actionable things she’s learned at her first job is how much people in publishing like to drink.) When he walks in, Leia and Luke have already left, and Rey is a little drunk as she listens to their intern’s dating woes. 

Ben gets a beer and joins at their table. He’s pretty awkward. She keeps feeling his eyes on her, but whenever she turns, he’s saying something to Mitaka, their junior graphic designer. She’s about to say something to Ben, but Bazine keeps distracting her: throwing her arms around her, kissing her cheek and telling her loudly how much she’ll be missed, trying to get Rey to try her Juul. 

Soon, Ben stands abruptly, thrusting a hand at her. “Bye, Rey,” he says formally. “It was good working with you.” Rey squints up at him, her body enjoying the feeling of his big palm engulfing her for a very firm handshake. It was really too bad—she gives him a grin, wide and friendly from the multiple rounds of paloma slushies. 

“Bye, Ben. Thanks for...teaching me to better defend my ideas.” 

She’s not being snarky. It’s true. Anticipating his many and varied objections to her ideas over the last year has sharpened her pitching skills. But he frowns, and hesitates, like there’s something else he’s about to say. Then he shakes his head and turns around, raising a hand in farewell. 

* * *

They kiss for a long time, slow and exploratory. She wants to burrow into his body, and wraps her arms tighter around his shoulders. His hands feel tentative as they meander down her body.

She doesn’t want him tentative, when she knows he has to leave soon. So she bites gently at the base of his throat, half-assed revenge for how mad he made her when they first met. She feels a little shudder go through him, an exhale against her face. 

“Rey,” he says, tilting her chin up. His tone sounds like a warning, but his eyes look delighted. “Did you bite me?” 

She looks up at him, widening her eyes a bit and nodding slowly, excitement starting to work its way through her. 

And then thunk, his bag hits the ground and he’s turning her around to press her into the wall and his hands are moving down, to first cradle her ass and squeeze it, and then he immediately does it again, not even waiting a full beat, like he can’t stand not touching her, and suddenly his arms are lifting, scooping her, and she’s airborne like he was just a few hours ago and now he’s here in her apartment, because she’s his priority, and he’s carrying her into her room where he’s only been a couple of times and there’s the armchair he carried home for her, and her ass is bouncing against the duvet and now she’s sprawled, grinning up at him and he smiles back and then he darts down and to kiss her and then, and then, and then! his hand grabs to pull her up gently by the hair, putting her right in front of his jeans (she’d been at the Uniqlo when he bought them) and more importantly the beginnings of a sizable erection in said jeans and he’s telling her that he'll have to punish her for biting him, his hand winding a little tighter, and it’s perfect, amazing, incomparable, because oh, right—they both like this kind of thing. 

* * *

One Saturday, several months after leaving OS Press, Rey is running in the park, a podcast blasting through her headphones. She’s fast, she’s flying, she’s drenched in sweat. She’s near the end of her usual route when she hears footsteps behind her. She edges to the right, allowing the person to pass her, but they don’t. Instead, they get closer. Her heart rate spikes. Every true crime, helpless-jogger story—which she knows are a statistical rarity, but why do those steps keep approaching—surges through her brain. And then someone touches her elbow. 

She wheels around, yanking out her headphones, elbows out, overflowing with adrenaline and ready to do the two self-defense moves she remembers from some Refinery 29 article. Her arms drop awkwardly when she sees who’s in front of her: a sweating, red-cheeked Ben Solo. 

“Fuck,” she pants out. “That freaked me out. Hey.”

“Hey, Rey. Sorry” He’s panting too. He’s so large he casts a shadow over her. She hasn’t seen him since she left OS. He’s still big. Still hot. Good to know. “I just started my run and saw you. Wanted to say hi.”

“Well. Hey. Not sure what to do, she starts bouncing on her heels, trying to keep her heart rate up.

He watches her for a few seconds, and she wonders if it’s uncouth, how much her breasts are bouncing in front of him. Whatever. He’s the one who stopped her. For whatever reason she hopes he gets to quickly. 

“You know, that doesn’t actually do anything,” he says eventually “There’s no measurable difference in your heart rate. I read a thing—” 

She shakes her head, and keeps bouncing, quicker now. “You’re such a—that’s kind of rude, you know.”

“Sorry. I can be kind of a dick.” He looks away, then back at her, determinedly making eye contact. “You know what you’re doing.”

She snorts at his honesty. “Yeah. I do.”

“Do you, ah, run here a lot?” 

“Yep. Do you?” 

“Yeah. I usually do the six mile loop up the hill.”

Of course he does. He’s still panting a little, and he’s opening his mouth like he’s going to ask her another inane question. He seems to want to keep talking. And Rey is curious how his mom is doing, and well, he’s still hot. Besides. The sun feels nice. He looks abashed. Rey feels magnanimous and powerful right now, strong and drenched in sweat. 

“Well. I’m going to run as fast as I can to that tree. And then I’m going to get coffee, if you’re interested?” 

He nods, and watches as she sprints to the oak tree. She thinks the audience makes her just a tiny bit faster. 

At coffee, he asks about her new job. She’s getting promoted next month, she tells him, letting the pride soak her voice. “Senior acquisitions editor.”

“Wow. You’re moving up fast.” He sounds surprised. 

“I’m good at my job,” she says, irritated, sliding her eyes over to him as they walk around the block. 

“You are,” he says, and she can tell he’s sincere. From what she knows of Ben Solo, she doesn’t think he’s capable of false enthusiasm. “Congratulations. That’s impressive.” 

She takes another sip of her coffee. 

“You always were good at that job. I wasn’t.”

The past tense surprises her. “You’re not—?”

He shakes his head, telling her how he only took the publishing job because it was his sole option after quitting his job at some startup that tried to put a modern millennial sheen on predatory check-cashing businesses. “Took advantage of the family connections,” Rey can’t help herself from saying.

“Yeah. For so long I just wanted to be the best. The best at that job. And then the best acquisitions editor. But now I'm just a pretty okay data analyst. And it’s kind of nice not, like, destroying myself with the effort and pressure every day. I think I’m happier.” 

He looks over at her. “Turns out,” he says, a little tentatively. “I’m really fucking boring. I love just doing spreadsheets and SQL shit all day and not talking to anyone and not having to come up with creative ideas.” 

She laughs at that, surprised at him, surprised at herself, and he smiles a little bigger, and they keep walking. 

She’s also surprised when he asks for her number at the end of their walk. But she gives it readily, because it turns out that this Ben really is a little more relaxed. He still seems to have a lot of opinions, which come up while they make small talk about some recent movie (“Ugh. It was such a slog. Like, she’s a great actress and her entire role was, ‘Babe, don’t.’” “Well, that’s not exactly a fair assessment—”) but he also laughs loudly at her impression of Jeff Bezos, coming up with exciting new ways to fuck over publishers, which is a point in his favor. 

He texts her the next week. She’d made a stupid joke about “Kill Bill” when talking about an editor at a rival company that had poached one of her bestselling authors, and he mentions that the local art museum is doing some French New Wave program, and they’re screening “Pulp Fiction” and “Bande à Part” back to back. He might check it out, if she’s interested. She is. And then she texts him the following week, to ask if he really does know where the trail to the secret waterfall is, like he’d mentioned, and if he could show her. He’d be happy to. 

She wonders, as their hangouts become more of a routine, why they don’t take the obvious route towards dating. She’s pretty sure, from his initial park ogle, self-deprecating laugh when he describes himself as very single and seeming inability to not check out her ass when she wears a certain pair of yoga pants on their hikes, that he’s attracted to her. And she lets her own attraction, the one that she’d tried to tamp down and ignore, flourish. She finds herself looking for opportunities to touch his elbow, hunting for things to make him grin. 

But instead of acting on the too-long glances they both sometimes give each other, they take a sharp pivot into friendship. She’s not quite sure why. Probably because they’re both a little—well, lonely sounds depressing. But maybe they both need a friend more than someone to sleep with right now. He mentions a few times how he’s not sure what to do with all his free time these days, now that he’s less stressed and not working on the weekends, how strange it is to leave work and just stop thinking about it. And Rey does get her promotion, and a raise, and now she lives by herself, which is great. Like, so great. But it’s weird, being alone so much, and now that Finn and Rose are living together, she still sees them of course, but way less than when she and Rose were roommates. And her new apartment turns out, actually, to be fairly close to Ben’s. So it’s convenient. 

And talking to him, over weeks that turn into months, helps a lot, because while she loves her new job—it’s more responsibility, a higher salary, bigger budgets to work with—it’s not as casual. There’s no Bazine rolling back in her chair to yell at Rey across the hallway because she's too lazy to walk over, or Luke telling them all to close their eyes and think about what feels like a better fit in their hearts while deciding between two books for the fall list. Ben listens to her over coffees and beers and dumplings as she rants about the increased stress, her constant Amazon wrangling, and the awkwardness of having to tell one of her star authors that, no, they’ll never publish her memoir of religious awakening. He’s a good listener, and she likes how she can spark against him, in excitement or frustration, and he’ll still be there, nodding calmly. 

It’s remarkably easy to be with him. It’s also just...fun. They both enjoy the kind of hikes that, according to their weaker friends, are more like “fucking death marches, are you kidding?” They chug beers after, their hair matted, their skin glistening. Like her, he likes watching movies, and while he usually lets her pick— “Magic Mike? No.” “It’s Soderbergh!” A heavy sigh. “Fine. But we’re watching the basketball one after”— he always makes sure to tell her his opinion. 

And that’s the thing. His argumentativeness is still there. (“That’s your favorite burrito place?” he asks her, scandalized. “It’s overpriced. And it’s not authentic at all. They don’t even have suadero or buche. No. Go here instead.”) But now that they’re not at work, she can inform him of just how wrong he is, and how, wow, Ben, I forgot that you know everything. She can roll her eyes as she tells him to,“My god, don’t be such a fucking snob,” when he looks aghast at the fake butter she’s pumping into their popcorn at the movies. When he opens his mouth to protest, she just adds another pump, grinning at him. 

She even grows to like the cocky side he usually keeps hidden. One day, they’re at the thrift store, Ben lured with the promise of Chinese food afterwards. She sees a beautiful pink mid-century velvet armchair. She doesn’t have a car, and this thrift store refuses to hold things. But Ben insists he can carry it, and does, sweating and straining the mile back to her house, refusing every time she barks at him to let her help. “It’s fine,” he grunted, sounding winded. Or the time they watch “Moonstruck,” and she remarked on how hard it is to make an egg-in-the-hole as perfectly as Cher’s mom does. 

“What? I can do that. It’s easy,” he scoffs, pausing the movie and looking at her. 

“It’s so hard! Getting everything to cook at the same time, without burning the bread and still making the egg runny. I bet you can’t,” she says, mainly just to tease him.

He looks at her sternly. Without saying anything, he stands and heads to the kitchen, shaking his head. 

“It's...good,” she says kindly, when he places it in front of her, not wanting to feed his ego. (He already knows he’s a great cook.)

“It’s perfect,” he says, irritably, watching as she eats it. It is: buttery, evenly browned, a gently wobbling yolk waiting for her fork. “Come on, Rey. Admit it.”

The tone, slightly demanding and bossy, makes something pulse in her stomach. “Fine.” You’re right,” she says, watching a satisfied grin spread across his face. “It’s so good, Ben.”

(Sometimes, she tries to cook for him. Switch it up. On one such night, he sits at her kitchen table. She thinks he’s twitching. “Do you want help?”

“No”, she says serenely, dirtying another bowl. “It’s kind of crazy. How many cookbooks I produce a year. And yet, I still hate cooking.”

“I know you do. Here. Just let me—” he lunges from where he’s sitting at the table, extending his long arms. 

She twists away. “Maybe this cookbook will be the one to finally make it all come together. It's a beginner’s cookbook for gifted tweens. Did I tell you it was an Amazon category bestseller?”

“You did. That’s awesome.” His arms are tightly folded now, like he’s trying to restrain himself from tackling her and taking over the lasagna-making. She wishes for that he would. She’d let herself be caught, surrounded, pressed down by his arms. “Be careful,” he says, sighing, as the roux starts to bubble and brown.)

When they watch “Do The Right Thing,” she casually mentions her middle school foster home, the one that didn't have air conditioning, and how much that sucks when your town borders the Mojave Desert. He tells her about his parents’ divorce after they watch “The Squid and the Whale,” how angry he was, for so long. When she suddenly starts sobbing one night after watching “Little Miss Sunshine,” she ends up telling him about her parents leaving her, being bounced around foster care like a tennis ball no one wanted to chase after. On her birthday, he makes her chocolate mousse and gives her a cactus. “Because you’re from the desert. And sometimes you're spiky,” he’d said, shoving it at her with a nervous look. She’d beamed, thrown her arms around him, and thinks of him every time she sees it on her windowsill: her big, serious friend Ben who sometimes needed to be joked out of his tendency toward melancholy, who’s patient, who lets her slump against him when she’s tired, who makes her feel so wanted. 

It’s the little things: his generosity with his time and attention. After Rey’s childhood of being shunted around foster care, feeling unwanted even if it was never explicitly stated, that kind of little stuff—texts of hyper-precise ETAs, how he suggests plan after plan, the way he always drapes his coat over a seat next to him at the movies, even when there’s a full row of empty seats—it makes her feel a thousand feet tall. 

More time passes, and there’s a family reunion Ben keeps mentioning with increasing anxiety. “Lots of back slapping and small talk,” he says, shoving a hand through his hair. “I hate that kind of thing. And it's just...a lot of people who knew me at a very specific time in my life.” 

He looks so relieved when she tentatively offers to join him, and ends up accompanying him to a big house by a lake, where a Black man with graying hair and an infectious smile shows her a stack of pictures of big-eared, curly-haired baby Ben doing all matter of embarrassing things, while adult Ben rolls his eyes, flips burgers and sips the can of Colt 45 they’d both been offered upon arrival. (She didn’t think he’d accept—he’s such a beer snob—but he’s already on his second.) 

She stays by the grill most of the day, even though he never lets her help. Plenty of people come up to talk to him, some bringing up topics that make his shoulders tense up, she notices—his old job, his dad’s death three years ago. She feels like she’s guarding him, almost, when she politely interrupts those people, turning with a bright smile, shoving her hand at them, saying, “I’m Ben’s friend Rey! Tell me about that shirt!” She likes the feeling that she’s shielding him. Later, he shows her how to catch a fish, his big hands gently arranging her form. She still wears the shirt she’s given—"Calrissian Contingent 2020”—to sleep in, sometimes. 

Every once in a while she thinks of Bazine’s words. When he takes off his shirt during a grueling hike (he’s still so fit, even though she makes him miss workouts: “Come on! I have to go to this brunch place. The chef sent me a proposal. Fried chicken and dosa waffles, boozy lassis...” “I can’t. It’s leg day.” “Finn and Rose are doing Whole 30. Please? You can get whatever you want. Come on Ben, I need your opinion.”) When he smells particularly good. When she sees him frown severely at something that’s disappointed him (the Warriors, a skunky beer.) 

They drink wine one night. He uses these small drinking glasses instead of real wine glasses— “I mean, they’re French”—and they just look so insignificant in his big, big hands, and her brain sing-songs, “bossy and rough and rough and bossy” in the background of her mind for the rest of the night. Later, she imagines getting spanked by those big hands. Being turned over, him placing her gently over his lap, stroking over her back, a finger tucking her hair behind her ear before he smacks her. And then, in his deep voice: “What do you say, Rey?”

She doesn’t do anything, though. She likes the cozy familiarity of their friendship, and there never seems to be an ideal time to say: hey, Ben. Before we sit down with these burritos (fine, you were right, your taqueria is better) and this weird-ass French movie you won’t shut up about, can I go down on you? You can slap my face with your dick if you want. In fact, I’d prefer it if you did. 

“Are you and Ben fucking?” Bazine asks her interestedly, sucking deeply at her Juul, when they’re all out at a dive bar one night. 

Rey takes a sip of her Tecate and rolls her eyes. “Nope. We have a chaste, cerebral friendship. Like you and me.” She looks at the other end of the table, where Ben nudges Finn’s shoulder and points to something with a small grin. Finn throws his head back and laughs. Rey smiles at them. 

“Boring. I think you should.” Bazine takes another thoughtful inhale. “You already hang out all the time. I told you it was good, right? And how he was fucking enormous? Like even, since then, he’s still the biggest. And I have slept with a lot of people since—” 

“Can I borrow that?” Rey says instead of responding. Lung damage seems preferable to admitting how much she wants him. Bazine hands her the Juul. Rey takes a few inhales, wincing. 

“I thought you hated that?” Ben says, sliding into the bench across from them. “Whenever you do that, you always complain that you can feel your lungs actively popcorning. And hey, Bazine. How’s OS?”

“Good. Luke got me an intern. She’s a real prodigy.” Bazine takes the Juul back and sucks with relish. She stands and waves it at Rey. “One last time? I know you love the mango.”

Rey shakes her head and Bazine leaves them, striding across the patio for another drink. 

Ben leans closer across the table, touching her shoulder. “Look at that corgi behind you.”

She looks and then turns back at him, maintaining their closeness. “He looks like a fucking dope.” 

“Huge idiot.” He sniffs. “You do smell like mango.” He lingers a little, then pulls away. 

The next week, they go to the beach with Finn and Rose. Rey catches Ben looking at her, and raises her eyebrows in mock indignation. 

He shrugs a little, unrepentant, a small grin on his face, dragging his eyes down her chest. She feels her nipples tighten in her polka dot bikini. 

She leans back on her towel on her elbows and does the same. Pulling down her sunglasses, she looks him up and down, taking her time, letting him see her checking him out. She stares at his chest, then pauses just a bit too long over his shorts. 

He notices the direction of her gaze, blushing a little, she thinks. They stare at each other. Neither of them say anything. And then a Frisbee skids across the sand to them, and they both jump up to join Finn and Rose. Later in the car ride home, sunburned and sand pooling in her sneakers, everyone’s quiet. Rey stares out the window, wondering, not for the first time, why she’s denying herself, and if it really was hunger that she saw in his eyes.

* * *

Rey opens her mouth. Eager, obedient, ready to do anything to make him come. But then a wave of something passes over his stern face, and he looks impossibly sweet. 

“Rey,” he says, voice tender, looking down at her. 

She smiles up at him. This is the beginning A lump threatens to form in her throat. 

But—no. There will be time for that later, the horny part of her brain shrieks. He has to go soon, for some plan with his mom he committed to forever ago, and she wants this, wants him, as soon as she can, all of the promises and ideas they texted each other during the last week when he was at that stupid, awfully-timed conference. She puts her hands on his waistband and he seems to realize the same thing. 

Suddenly, she’s being pushed down onto the mattress, his body over hers. He leans back. 

“Take off your clothes.” She shivers, ready to do what he says, eager to follow where her good friend Ben wants to lead them. 

She hadn’t been quite sure of her outfit—what do you wear for a 7 a.m. hookup with your good friend, someone who’s seen you at your sloppiest?—so she’s in her nicer, fitted sweatpants and long sleeved shirt. And under—

“So beautiful. Did you wear these for me, Rey?” It’s a new version of his familiar voice, lower and darker. Good for giving orders. He runs his hands down her body, over the lacy pink bra and thong. 

“I did.” And her voice is different too, higher and needy. 

“Turn over.” 

When she does, he strokes a hand over her ass, skimming over the cleft, grabbing the top of her thong and pulling it taut between her cheeks. The fabric rubs against her cunt. 

“Did you say once that movies needed to—what was it? ‘Normalize wearing Target granny panties’? Because I thought you said that no woman ever walks around in a matching bra and underwear?” He releases the fabric. 

She turns her head back to him at the sound of his normal voice, rolling her eyes. “They don’t. Except when they want to get fucked by their super hot friend.”

She doesn’t see his arm pulling back, and when his hand makes contact with her ass it’s hard, with enough power and force that she jolts. “Ow!”

“That’s for biting me. And be patient, Rey.”

“But we don’t have time,” she complains, as he grabs her around the waist and hauls her into his lap. He moves her so easily, and she loves it, she loves it, she loves it. 

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that without asking.” He kisses her apologetically.

“We talked about it in the texts. I said I liked to be spanked. A lot.” She kisses down the column of his neck. 

“Still. Just to confirm. You still want it—like this?” Another hard slap to her ass.

“Yes.” 

“And you’re fine that I probably have to go immediately after, and I can’t take care of you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Promise you'll tell me if you don't like anything? And your safe word is still what you texted me?”

“Yes, Ben, yes,” she says impatiently, sliding against his clothed erection. “And same to you. Tell me. If.”

“Okay,” he says, breathing harder. “Did I tell you how beautiful you are?” 

She wraps her around his shoulders, using her grip for leverage as she continues to rub herself against him, harder now, the thin crotch of her underwear quickly getting wet. 

“Look at you. So desperate.” And now it’s that voice again, the one she’s already going to be imagining the next time she’s alone in her bed. “I’m not even touching you and you’re already moaning.”

She didn’t realize it, but she is. She makes another small noise as he slowly pushes his hips up, shoving his cock against her. He feels huge, like he’s going to split the delicate lace.

“Did you touch yourself thinking about this when I was gone this week?”

“I did. More than once.” she says, grinding faster, trying to show him how excited she is. 

“I didn’t.” 

She pulls her head back to scowl at him 

“Don’t worry. I have before.” He grins at her, then leans in and bites at her pouting lower lip. “Many, many times during our friendship.”

“Wow. Weirdo.” She can’t stop moving, catching his hardness under her, moaning. Even through his jeans, the pressure is perfect. 

He shifts, pulling her head back flush against his chest. “I wanted to wait. Especially once I got your text.” He wraps an arm around her waist and bounces her a little on his cock. Then he pulls her head back against his shoulder, so he can thrust up against her, hard. “You know, the one where you said you said since we’re both clean and you have an IUD, we didn’t need to use a condom.” 

His hand moves to the front of her body. “Once I knew I could come here,” he says, sliding a finger under her underwear, tracing around her entrance, “I wanted to wait.”

“Oh, fuck,” she whimpers, rubbing against where his finger is wedged in her underwear, trying to force it inside. 

He trails his finger upward, to circle her clit. “Is that still okay, Rey?”

“Ben, Ben.” He already has her begging, she marvels. “Yes. Please. I want to feel you. Now.”

“So demanding.” He rolls his hips up, so slowly. She squeezes her eyes shut in frustration. 

“Yeah. You’re going to have to fuck me all the time to keep me satisfied,” she pants. She pulls at his hair, grinding and bouncing against him as fast as she can. “Just so we're clear on my expectations for this whole thing.”

“Oh, good.” He sounds a little breathless, and she’s glad he finally seems affected. “I have similar—fuck, Rey, that feels—similar expectations.” 

* * *

It was always going to happen. Rey just—accelerated the timeline. 

One night they’re at a bar, the kind of beer garden Ben loves, with Christmas lights strung up around picnic tables, twenty three beer options that he spends forever deciding between, the kind of bar that Finn calls bougie and pretends to hate, but that he might secretly love, since he always ends talking to Ben about the tasting notes of whatever saison he ends up getting. Him and Rose have already left for a co-worker’s party. And even though Ben has a horrifically early flight tomorrow, for some very important conference, he’s offered to stay and drive her home as she finishes her beer.

“He definitely flunked puppy school,” he says, pointing out a squirrelly labradoodle who keeps sprawling in the middle of the aisle, ignoring its owner’s commands. When he looks back at her, he flicks his gaze down her chest. It had been a warm night, and she’s not wearing a bra. (Did she make that particular sartorial choice after getting his text? Who’s to say.) 

“Skated by on his looks. Sad.” Rey shakes her head, shivering a little. It’s colder now. Her nipples are probably visible through the thin tank top. She pauses. Then she takes a sip of her beer (the one he picked for her, when she’d had to pee and asked him to choose something for her, you know what I like. He’d nodded, furrowing his brow at the list, and she’d ended up with a kumquat sour she loved) and decides to just say it.

“Ben. When are we gonna...you know.”

He raises his eyebrows at her. “You know?”

“Yeah.” She lets her knees slide in between his, and knock gently against him under the small table. “I want to.” 

Realization sweeps over his face. She likes how quickly he understands. He always knows what she’s trying to say. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Do you want—”

“Yeah.” He stares at her, leaning over the table. “I want to, too.” 

She beams and he smiles at her too. It feels monumental yet small. Expected. They’re quiet, but it feels nice. There’s no rush. The happiness hangs in the air. The lights seem to twinkle around them. 

She takes another sip, and says, brightly. “And. I’m like, into it.”

“Yeah, Rey?” he says, smiling at her like she’s adorable and he could listen to her forever, no matter what, even if he doesn’t quite understand. 

“No.” She beams, taking another sip, remembering that while this is only her second beer, it’s 12% ABV. “Like, what you’re into. The rough stuff.” 

He freezes. “Wait. What? How do you—”

“Bazine. It was when I first started at OS, and you guys—”

He interrupts her, eyes round. “And you’re...into that?”

“Yeah. I like…” She takes a deep breath, watching him take another sip of beer. “Being bossed around. Being sort of objectified. When it’s rough. Like hair-pulling…”

He starts hacking. 

“Are you okay?”

“Keep—going,” he chokes out. 

She draws a pattern in her beer’s condensation. “I mean, I don’t know what else to say. I like being slapped around a little during sex. Simple.” 

Another strangled cough. 

“Ben! You’re freaking me out.”

“Slapped—around—?” 

“Yeah. I mean, like. The usual places.” She wonders if he needs a diagram. He seems a little slow to process this. “Not, like, my face.” 

She looks at his hands, and then says reflectively: “I mean, I’m not ruling it out entirely. That could be fun. But, like, in terms of what I know for sure already…”

“I see,” he croaks. He’s taking deep breaths now. Wheezes, you could call them. 

Suddenly, she’s anxious. She pulls back, looking at his face, which is unreadable. Does he not like that stuff anymore? Was he only into it with Bazine? (Rey is a pretty stalwart submissive, but even she understands the impulse to punish Bazine. She’s a good friend, but can be a huge brat.)

“Sorry. If you’re into into that—if you don’t want—I thought…” The words dribble out of her slowly as she feels her face fall. She looks away, back at the dog, not really focusing. Fantasies of spankings and orders from him start to fade. 

Suddenly, he’s leaning across the table again, a lot closer. “Rey. Can you look at me, please?”

It’s polite, but there’s the edge of something commanding in his tone. She looks back at him, hope returning. 

“Just needed a minute. You’re right. That’s what I’m into.” His voice is low, and his eyes scan over her face, taking in how she’s biting her lip. The lights reflect off his hair and eyes, and she notices the glint of excitement in them. “Same as you, apparently.”

She grips her beer, inching closer to him, her butt almost sliding off the bench. “Would you like it? With me, you think?” Her voice is approaching the way it sounds during sex, a little whinier. 

His knees close around hers. He leans even closer somehow, like there’s not a table between them. He takes her free hand in both of his. His eyes bore into her. She’s trapped. 

“Yes, Rey.” 

She swallows. “Well. That’s good.” Heat builds in her stomach. She shifts a little on her seat. Her body responds to that tone the way it would if he had commanded her to do something. Something like, say, get on your knees under this table. She squirms, and he notices, dark eyes dilated. 

“It’s very good,” he says, seeming to enjoy how he’s affecting her. How did things shift so quickly? A hand over hers, a firm tone, and now she wants to yield to him in every way she can? She trembles. He stares at her like he wants to devour her. This is how it could be, she thinks. How it’s going to be, from now on.

“Do you want to take off?” she says hastily. 

“Yeah.”

It’s quiet in the car, but the silence is thick and heavy, drenched in anticipation. When he pulls up in front of her apartment, he turns the car off and turns to look at her. “So. I really want this.”

“Me too,” she, unbuckling her seatbelt and leaning toward him. 

“But. I think I need to know before we—Do you want this...just sex? As friends? Or do you want—?”

“I want it all,” she interrupts. “Ben. I want all of it, with you. I want to be with you in all the ways.”

A whooshing exhale escapes him. He leans closer, grinning. “Me too.” How many times have they said that, or something similar, tonight? How long have they silently been on the same page, waiting for some small push to topple them into romance, sex, partnership? 

He reaches out a hand, like he’s going to cup her face and kiss her, like he’s going to grab her waist and pull her towards him, like he’s going to slip his fingers under her shirt or under the waistband of her jeans. But then he stops. 

She leans closer, but he doesn’t move. But he tilts his head ever so slightly toward the left. She tilts her head to the right, their faces close.

“If I touch you right now, Rey,” he says, his voice gravelly and a little shaky. She can feel his breath on her face, and she closes her eyes. “I’m going to miss my flight.” 

She opens eyes, sighing quietly, the sound almost a hiss in the small space. He drops his hand. 

“But when I get back...” 

She can’t force herself to move just yet. “When you get back….” she breathes, and he closes his eyes briefly, inhaling. 

Then she pulls away from him. Because she’s still his friend. And this is the conference he’s been worried about, and he, cruelly, has to present tomorrow, just a few hours after a cross country flight, and she doesn’t want to mess that up for him. 

She watches his hands clench over his keys, and then he pulls away. His collar is a little askew. When he gets back, she’ll be able to adjust his collar whenever it’s messed up. Touch him whenever she wants. The thought makes her giddy. It’s okay that they can’t do anything tonight. They have so much time. 

* * *

Ben grabs her hips, lifting her off him, setting her on the bed. He follows her down, impatiently pulling her thighs apart to fit himself between them. One hand pulls off her underwear, the other coming up to knead one of her breasts. 

“Take it off.”

She quickly complies, tossing $65 worth of lace and underwire onto the floor. And then she almost bashes his face in with how quickly she thrusts her hips against him because his mouth feels—

Fuck, she knew this would be good. How could it not be when Ben has those lips? And of course he knows how to perfectly integrate the nose that she knows he’s self conscious of, but she loves, because it completes his profile so nicely, and right now he’s pressing it into her clit while he licks greedily around her folds. 

“I could spend hours doing this,” he says, voice muffled by her thighs

“You will. And then I’ll suck your dick,” she chattering frantically, because it feels so good, already. “It felt big when I was sitting on your lap. I might—fuck!— choke a little because it’s so big.” 

“Yeah? I’d have to spank you if you didn’t take it all the way, though.” 

She moans, her hands digging into the comforter. 

He bends down again. “You like that?” He sucks hard at her clit. “Going to spank you whenever you need it.”

Rey whimpers.

“God, your ass. I almost got an erection from going to that stupid yoga class you dragged me to. You were in front of me and I just had to stare at it the entire time, trying not to fall.”

“Wasn’t stupid,” she pants. She wraps her leg around her shoulders, pushing her cunt harder against his face.

“You’re right.” He kisses her thigh in apology and then shoves a finger into her for a quick, hard thrust. 

“You taste so good,” he says, in between long licks. “Remember that time you stayed over after drinking too much? I knocked to give you coffee the next morning and I swear to god I could smell you when you opened the door. I wanted to—”

He gets distracted by his work for a few seconds before lifting his head again. “I wanted to do this until you admitted you had touched yourself in my guest room.”

“Is that the morning you made pancakes?” She reaches down, clutching his hair. “Because yeah, I definitely did. You looked so hot. Those sweatpants and your—fuck—hair all messy. I wanted…”

The pleasure distracts her. She trails off, head falling backwards. He thrusts his finger back into her, hard. “Rey. Tell me.” 

“I wanted to get on my knees for you in the kitchen. Have you put your dick in my mouth while you cooked,” she says rapidly, her ability to form coherent words slipping away. “Wanted to just stay down there on the floor, keep it in my mouth, until you told me stop.” 

“Fuck. Fuck. Next time.” 

She feels him start to add another finger. All of a sudden, she’s impatient. She wants to get fucked, split open by him, and they only have so much time.

“Ben,” she whines until he looks up, eyes unfocused and face wet. At the sight, she immediately wants to drag him back down and keep him there forever, but she stays strong. 

“Please, can you fuck me? Now?”

“But you didn’t—I want to do this to you until—”

“Next time,” she says, tugging at him. “We have to hurry, remember?” 

He buries his face against her once more. “Want to make you come,” he growls. “Make you come again and again.” But then he stands up, wiping at his face, pulling off his clothes. When he’s naked, Rey just stares for a second, feeling her eyes get huge. 

Because Rey has seen Ben without a shirt before, but his chest is so wide,and his thighs are so thick—she’s going to be balanced across them for a spanking someday soon, she thinks, her cunt clenching at the thought—and the combination threatens to overwhelm her poor little brain, especially when she finally allows herself to zero in on what’s between those massive thighs. 

And Rey has never been very good at size estimates (something Bazine had always yelled at her about, how all the design elements Rey proposed couldn’t actually fit on a book cover, duh Rey) but she already knows for a fact that Ben will be the largest person she’s slept with. It’s not just that he’s so big—and my god, he is—it’s also that he’s thick. Rey has a flash of wondering how exactly it’s all going to fit. She thinks briefly of the lube in her nightstand, but then his dick twitches under her gaze and she licks her lips, now thinking only of how much she wants him. 

“Roll over,” he orders, climbing back on the bed, next to her. When she does, he takes the opportunity to slap her ass once more. He crawls over her, lifts her hips, holding them in place for his cock as he drags it along her cunt, sliding around the wetness there. 

Rey didn’t expect any part of their first time to be slow, but as he sets himself at her opening and begins pushing in slowly, she finds she’s glad he’s taking his time. He's so big that every small forward movement of his causes more breath to leave her lungs. She keeps thinking it's over, but he keeps pressing slowly, keeps making more room for himself in her body, and it’s astounding how much of him there is, how much she can take. 

For a second, she’s overwhelmed by it. She reaches an arm back, waving at him. It’s an awkward angle, but he manages to enterwine his fingers with one of his hands, the one not holding her firmly in place for his cock. 

“Okay?” he asks, sounding breathless and slightly concerned. He squeezes her hand. 

She breathes in, trying to adjust. It’s hard. Every breath, every motion is a reminder of how big he is—too big?—and how small she feels in comparison. He doesn’t move, and she grinds a little, trying to get some control over the feeling. Little sparks of pleasure start flickering through her, his warm grip making everything better. 

“Yeah,” she breathes. And then she pushes her hips back against him once, experimentally. That feels good. But what feels better is how it gets him to start moving. 

“Shit,” he mutters, sinking into her, even deeper somehow. “I was stupid. This might be fast.”

She laughs breathlessly, then makes a choked noise, because he doesn’t warm up. Or let her get used to a rhythm. He just starts fucking her, thrusting in again and again. 

It’s—perfect. It’s rough and brutal and this is how she likes it, always has, sex accompanied by a little bit of a wince, pleasure streaked with pain. Only everything’s a little sharper, brighter, better since it’s Ben.

“Don’t worry, though,” he growls, hips pummeling hers. “I can make it good for you. You said you like it rough?” He smacks her ass again. She cries out. “How’s that? Need more? Of course you do.”

He shoves into her, pace relentless. Every once in a while, he leans back, looking at their bodies—sometimes squeezing her cheeks together tightly, other times slapping her where her ass curves into her thigh, always bending down after, cooing in her ear, “Look at you, so full, you like that, Rey?”—and it’s all the intensity she disliked about him at first, but it’s so good now. If she pushes back, moves too much for the rhythm he’s trying to force on her, he grips her hips painfully hard, and she likes the feeling of wiggling uselessly underneath him, knowing that he’s the one in control. 

“Fuck, Rey. Love—how you feel.”

“Me, too,” she gasps. “You.” 

“I still can’t believe you’re into this.” For a second, he doesn’t sound like dominating, totally-in-control Ben, but a little disbelieving, like he’s still amazed that this is actually happening, that they get to do this. 

“Same, same, oh—”

“Wanted this for so long. I would have—fuck—settled for anything. Missionary with our eyes shut.” 

She laughs breathlessly. “This is so much better. You can go faster.”

He does. She feels her body shake, her ass and thighs jiggle as he slams into her again and again. Every thrust pushes her a little farther up the bed. Rey listens to their skin slapping together and she lies there, passive, moaning happily into the mattress. She loves him using her like this, the hint of an ache that accompanies it. 

“Love watching you take it like this. So beautiful.” He bends to kiss the back of her neck. And then he straightens up, pressing his palm down to hold her down by the same spot. He jams his hips forward for a few more thrusts, and Rey becomes aware of a wet spot—her drool— next to where he’s holding her down. 

“Do you like that?” He digs his hand into her hair, yanking her up. She whines, arching off the bed. “Rey. Tell me if you liked that.”

“It’s so good Ben, I love it, I need it. Need you,” she babbles. “Harder,” she says, voice already cracking. “Fuck, harder, please please.” 

He keeps hold of her hair, forcing her to keep her back arched as he slams in. Then he wrenches her head around, so he can look at her. She sees his smile at the way her face is contorted. He’s. So. Mean, her brain squeals in joy. He forces her to twist just a little more, so he can kiss her sloppily, their teeth clacking. 

Then he shoves her head back down to the mattress. She can’t think, can’t focus on anything but Ben and big and full, blinking signs in her brain as he grips her.

He worms a hand under her hips, rubbing roughly at her clit. She squeals. “Need anything?”

She turns her head, looking back at him, brain muddled. His cheeks are red, his hair falling wildly around his face. “Can you, ah, choke me a little?” 

His hand immediately comes around her neck to collar her. She groans. 

“You like me choking you, huh? You like it to hurt a little when I fuck you?” 

She nods as much as his hand allows. He bends over her body, tightening his grip, his other hand still at her clit. It’s all so fast, and they’re both being so loud for 7 a.m., and they’re both close, she thinks, but it’s fine that this time is rushed, because they’ll have so many more times. 

“Good,” he snarls, shoving forward. He moves his hand away from her neck, and her breath leaves her in a huff. 

“So good. Going to do this all the time,” she says into the comforter, demanding. 

His hands keep moving. Her throat, her ass, the scruff of her neck. Those familiar hands. Those hands that have helped her carry groceries. That have waved to her across restaurants. The ones she’s stared at too openly after 2.5 wines. And now, those hands are pressing her just a little too hard into the mattress, exactly the way she likes. She sighs in satisfaction and then it turns into a wail when he slaps her ass again. 

His elbows are by her head as he pushes into her, his sweat dripping over her. She’s covered by him. She feels his arm move under her, forearm rubbing against her nipples as to wrap his hand around her neck once more, thick fingers squeezing gently at the sides of her neck. She falls apart cradled by his hand, her breath, her body controlled by Ben, and she comes with a loud yelp, her body quaking, jerking against him. 

As she comes back from her orgasm, Rey thinks hazily about how she’s always liked knocking Ben off balance. In meetings with good ideas. With some joke that makes him laugh loudly at coffee. She likes this, too. How wrecked he sounds now, how her body has reduced him to these impatient artless motions. His noises have changed, from snarls to rough, hungry sounds, like he’s helpless in the face of this, too. He’s released her neck, and he’s unyielding in his movements now, holding her down by the shoulders for leverage. She imagines waking up to hand-shaped bruises there tomorrow. 

“I—I—love this,” he says brokenly, slamming into her once more. His arm comes around her chest, to yank her down to him, and he keeps her there, shifting his hips around as he comes, his balls rubbing against her folds. 

He comes for a long time, it feels like, and when he pulls out, some of it drips down her thighs. He grunts, gathering it with his finger and pressing it back into her, mouth sucking at her neck. And then his fingers move upward to circle her clit, and he’s rubbing with his wet finger, and she’s tiredly twitching against him once more, the second orgasm gentle, not the violent convulsions of before, and then she sighs, relaxing against him. 

Rey lets out a satisfied grunt. It comes out sounding a little less than human. 

“Mrawr? Excuse me?” 

“Yep. That’s what you did to me.” She grinds her hips back against him, then groans and pushes back, trying to get him to shift his weight. “Urgh. So heavy.”

“All right, all right.” He rolls them so they’re spooning, now. He holds her gently.

He buries his face in her hair, making his own animalistic grunt. 

“We did it,” she says, yawning a little, suddenly exhausted. 

“We finally did it.” His hands tighten around her. “I’m very happy right now,” he says, his tone serious. 

She twists to grin at him, arching her body, managing to kiss his nose. “Me too.”

“You were so loud,” he says, sounding smug. “I wonder if your neighbor heard.”

“So were you. Maybe she’ll stop flirting with you every time she sees you in the parking lot.” 

He makes a disbelieving noise. “She just needed help with her groceries.” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll fight her for you.”

He chuckles. Keeping his arm locked around her, he rolls them over so she’s on top of him, and sits them up. She kisses him again, getting up to use the bathroom. 

He’s looking at his phone when she gets back, his underwear and teeshirt back on. 

“If I leave now, I’m already going to be 15 minutes late to meet my mom,” he says with a grimace.

“You shouldn’t have made me come the second time.” Still naked, she flops down next to him on the bed. 

“Nah. I had to do that.” He tosses his phone to the side, and rolls next to her, rubbing her back. He smacks a kiss onto her neck, then runs his hand gently down her spine. “You okay? Everything feel good?” 

Rey stretches out. “Yep. Just very thoroughly sexed.”

“Shit, I’m really sorry I have to go. Are you going to be okay?”

“I mean, of course I would prefer to be smothered in a blanket and be cuddled by you for hours.” Rey pulls her comforter around herself, looking at him. “Make you bring me all the snacks. But I’ll be fine.”

“We can do that tomorrow. Or tonight.”

“Yeah, do you want to come over later when you’re done with your mom stuff?”

“Yes.” He stands. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Water, maybe? Gatorade, even? That was active.” 

“Got it.” He gets up, pulling on the rest of his clothes. She hears him opening things in her kitchen. 

She’s emerging from the blanket and moving to put her clothes on when he gets back, his arms full.

“No, stay like that,” he says, blushing. “I like you in your little blanket pile. Your cheeks are all pink.” He reaches forward to rub a thumb lightly over her face and she smiles. 

“Here. I got you some stuff so you don’t have to get up.” He sets down her refilled water bottle, a cup of coffee from the pot she’d made but had been too nervous to drink before he came over, and a string cheese. He pulls the comforter around her, burying her in it more completely. 

“I’m a puff ball.” 

“Rey the puff.” He kisses her head, leaving her on the bed. He looks back and gives her a big grin. “So happy,” he says again. 

Rey smiles back from her blanket, already looking forward to seeing him again. “So, so happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After slipgoingunder's (hilarious, extremely hot) [Hinge](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18804376/chapters/44617423), it's canon that Bazine just wants someone to worship her in bed, right?
> 
> Hmmm I wonder why Uncle Lando [has all](https://youtu.be/0pK5HmuCMBM) that [Colt 45](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/2a/8f/58/2a8f5838ac6178bc3cfa32d3652dd7fc.jpg)
> 
> Speaking of, stumbling[ upon this adorableness](https://mobile.twitter.com/lavenderrx/status/753048053473484801) on Twitter was part of the reason I wanted to include the BBQ
> 
> Highly recommend watching the "Bande à Part" [dance scene](https://youtu.be/u1MKUJN7vUk) (and the entire movie) if you need a lil pick me up
> 
> [Really, really good essay](https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/the-year-in-yelling-catastrophe-marriage-story-moonstruck/) comparing the yelling in "Marriage Story" to the yelling in "Moonstruck"
> 
> [ The egg from "Moonstruck,"](https://youtu.be/DGxOhy08N0A) which has a cast member in common with....  
>   
> ..."Do The Right Thing"! How about taking a few minutes out of your day to admire [Rosie Perez's dancing](https://youtu.be/739XYgoA-x8)?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up that this chapter has some descriptions of gyno pain and some very brief mentions of blood! Mainly in the first chunk, but I can give a more specific idea if you want. (Just comment/DM me.)

Rey lays in her blanket cocoon for almost an hour, scrolling through her phone, chomping down the string cheese. She looks dreamily at the texts they’d exchanged the week prior, while he was at the conference. Most are sexual. Their plans, their boundaries, what he was going to do as soon as he saw her, you like the sound of that Rey? Your picture made it seem like you did. 

But there are others. Banal, complaining ones. The people here are so boring. Kill me if I become this boring. Ugh, I had to go to this photoshoot for our vegan soul food cookbook and they threw out all the food by the time I got back from the bathroom. Look at this dummy. This guy is a real numbskull. 

She’s content, thoughts sliding from Ben’s eyes (so pretty) to Ben’s dick (so big) to ideas for their future (maybe they could climb Half Dome together!) When she feels a soreness in her cunt, she’s a little proud. Smug, even. Hell yeah. I was railed into submission by my hot friend and we’re going to be so happy together, she thinks, flinging her legs out of the blanket, heading to the kitchen for more water.

But the pain doesn’t fade. Her vagina feels tender, swollen, and when she eventually heads to the bathroom, she realizes she’s bleeding. Not a ton, but a there are a few drops that definitely weren’t on her nice underwear before. She stares in horror. Then she rinses them with cold water, and pulls on her period underwear, wondering if she’ll need to restock on pantyliners. And then the pain sharpens. It soon becomes unbearable, to the point where she almost feels nauseous, darting to her room to flop down on the bed and curl into a ball.

It hurts so much. She feels like she’s used a curling iron for a dildo. It reminds her of when she got her IUD, and Finn picked her up afterwards, having to practically scrape her off the waiting room floor after the painful insertion. It feels like her body did something it wasn’t designed for, like she’d tried to bake a soufflé in an Easy Bake Oven. She bled. Like she’s a virgin. A title that hasn’t applied to her since she was seventeen in the back of Bobby Lopez’s truck. She feels like she should wave some flag out from the window of her apartment. 

What the fuck? she thinks, rolling over and groaning. She’s been spanked before. She’s had sex from behind before. She’s been bent over, punished with rough thrusts, been used and reveled in it. 

But Ben is big. It had felt good at the time: a slight ache, but manageable. And the other factors—she was definitely wet, but maybe she still should have used the lube? She knows that sometimes it can hurt a little from behind, if she hasn’t come yet, but she’d thought it wouldn’t matter this time, because she was so turned on. But maybe the position, combined with Ben’s size and the pace, plus the fact that it had been awhile...

Hours pass. It’s agonizing. For a while, all she can do is move from the couch to the bed to the bathroom. She retrieves the heating pad from her closet (ow), puts on pants (ow), limps to the corner store (ow), where she buys Pop-Tarts. She’s too depressed to heat them, so she eats them raw, crumbs spilling everywhere. She takes Advil. Eventually it helps, but it hurts up until the exact moment it hits her bloodstream, and stops the second the four hours are over.

It hurts too much to think logically. She’s mad at Ben, briefly. Then her biology. Then at Ben’s gene pool, for cursing him with such a burden. Maybe he’s just not a good fit for her body. He’s not going to want this, she thinks, trying and failing not to cry. He’s going to leave her and she’ll never find a guy this hot and sweet who gives her cacti and knows how to spank her with the perfect amount of force. She starts crying, pulling the blanket over her, the pain, solitude and post-sex serotonin drop all combining for sniffly, self-pitying mindset she can’t shake. She was so happy. They were going to be so happy. She likes it when it hurts. But why does it have to hurt like this? 

She tries to be productive, but the pain distracts from everything. She thinks of how she meant to go to the grocery store, and almost laughs at the idea of riding a bike right now. Eventually, the pain recedes enough to the point where she can watch “Selling Sunset,” and after, she reads half of a Publishers Weekly article. (“A ‘Woman’-ly Title: Still An Easy Shortcut To Success For Thrillers?”)

Eventually, she calms down. A little. She doesn’t like being mad at her body. There’s nothing wrong with it. Or Ben’s body. If she looks at it reasonably, she knows she’s being silly, and tediously dick-centric: some of her best sexual experiences haven’t involved penetration. (After all, it wasn’t Bobby’s artless thrusting that made her come that night in his truck, but his mouth on her nipples, her hand guiding him to her clit.) But she wants Ben’s dick, she thinks miserably, flopping onto her other side. It’s aesthetic. And connected to him. Goddamnit, she’d planned on getting nailed by Ben, early and often, starting tonight, for—well, until either of them got tired of it. Why can’t she have that?

She can’t even bring herself to respond to Ben’s frequent texts:

<My mom is talking forever and all I can think about is how you taste>

<And those noises you made>

<You like How Did This Get Made right? They have a show here next month I just saw>

<Look at this buffoon, accompanied by a picture of a happy-looking bulldog>

Eventually he calls her. Another round of Advil has softened the pain enough where she can focus on the proposal she was sent on Friday (would an entire cookbook on Feta actually sell, she wonders skeptically, leafing through the pages.)

“Hey, sorry I didn’t answer. I’ve been busy,” she says, looking at the pile of Pop-Tart wrappers and aggressively-high heeled Bravolebrities on her screen. 

He exhales, sounding relieved. She feels bad at how she’s ignored him, made him worry, and tries not to cry again. 

“No worries. Are you still down to hang tonight?”

“Um, sure. Do you want to just stop by sometime after six?”

“See you then.” He sounds so excited as they end the call, but Rey just stares at the screen, yearning to be free of her flesh prison. 

* * *

Rey is a puddle of fleece on the couch when he knocks later that day. “Come in,” she yells. She was feeling better, but the sunset, and the realization that she’s spent an entire day out of commission from the morning’s sex, has depressed her again. Plus, her latest round of painkillers has worn off. 

When the door opens, she tosses the heating pad to the side, hurtling herself at him, burying her face in his soft sweater. “Ben, your stupid giant dick broke me,” she says, bursting into tears. “It’s hurt all day and I thought it would go away, and I really want to keep doing this with you, and it felt so good then and I’ve wanted this for so long, and I like it like that, but it’s never hurt like this before—”

He folds his arms around her. She hears a crinkle of plastic as they shift. 

“Did you get me flowers?” she wails, sobbing harder. 

“Rey—fuck, what? You’re in pain?”

“Yes,” she sobs. 

“I’m so sorry. Hey, hey, let’s sit down, okay?” 

She nods, and he leads her gently to the couch. She’s no longer in her cute tapered athleisure—the day’s events necessitated her most comfortable pair of oversized sweatpants, with stains from multiple origins—and she’s aware of how her face is likely shiny and red. That part doesn’t bother her. He’s seen her hiccuping and half-hysterical before. (She’d gone through an entire box of tissues after he had, for some godforsaken reason, chosen “Manchester By The Sea” for his movie pick one night.) She’s more worried about how they’re going to fix this. 

She tells him about her day. “You were bleeding?” he yells, eyes wild. “Should we go to the ER?”

She sighs, wiping at her face, slumping against the couch, curling toward him. “I think it’s fine. It was just immediately after. Not anymore.”

His eyes still widen in fear.

“If I’m still bleeding tomorrow, I’m going to call my gyno. I think it'll be okay eventually. This is like a familiar pain, almost? Like something that’s happened before turned up to a thousand. And that always fades. For now, I think Advil and this,” she says, gesturing to the heating pad, “is the best thing.” 

He reaches for her hand, looking at her for consent first. She nods. He gently takes it in his bigger one. “What do you think it was?”

She sighs. “I think it was a combination of the position and how fast everything was. Plus, you’re huge.” 

He shifts a little to make eye contact, looking somber. “Rey,” he says seriously. “We don’t have to do this. I would understand if you don’t want to do this anymore. We can go back—”

“No! I want to be with you in all the ways. I mean, do you—?”

Relief drops over his face. “Yeah. God, I was worried—“

“But, like, how?” Because she knows you can have great, fulfilling romantic relationships without sex, but that’s not what she wants with Ben. And yes, she obviously knows that they can have nonpenetrative sex, but everything just seems so hopeless and stupid and overwhelming right now.

“Rey. I care about you. I really, really don’t want to hurt you or make you bleed. Speaking of, you said this has happened to you before?”

She sighs, pulling away from him, scooting her knees towards her and wrapping her arms around them. “Not always. And never during. But sometimes after certain positions…”

He turns his whole body towards her. “Rey. I never, ever want it to hurt when we—we can keep a log, track when it hurts. You’re sure it wasn’t something that started during?” 

“I asked you to. I would have told you.” Because I trust you, she tries to say with her eyes. “I loved how rough it was. It's never been that bad before.”

“Okay, that’s good. So it can sometimes feel good from that position. See? There are all these different factors that I’m sure go into it. We can track it, test, and isolateso we know exactly what works and what doesn’t. Just...if this happens, I really don’t want you to ignore it. Or push through it. Tell me.” 

The level of attention he’s proposing, his unwavering commitment to her pleasure, the promise their future overwhelms Rey. “Ben,” she says, crying again, her sobs making his name stretch out. “You’re so nice.”

“I’m not, really.” He scoots toward hers, and pauses, his arms already outstretched. “Is it okay if I hug you?” 

She nods, vision blurry with tears as he embraces her. She feels so warm and cared for, surrounded by his heat. “We’re smart people. We’ll figure it out. Like, whenever we get back to—that, we can make it a rule,” he says matter-of-factly. “You always have to come once before I—”

“Stick it in?”

She thinks he’s rolling his eyes. “Yes, Rey. And we can use a ton of lube. Take it slow. Nothing intense.” 

She pulls back. “But neither of us is into gentle. I want this to be good for you.”

“I would do anything with you, even if—I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Me too,” she says, and Jesus, she’s crying yet again. “That’s why I want ...we both like. You know, rough. How are we going to do that while I heal, and we figure out how to make this not happen again?” She feels herself getting more agitated. “How can you make me take it if I can’t even take it?” she wails.

“Rey.” He scoops her into his arms, kissing her hair. “There are ways to get that besides, like, the obvious. I know you like the physical roughness. And we can get back to that, eventually. But there are plenty of other ways I can boss you around.”

“Yeah. I guess you can, like,”—she sniffs—“choke me.” 

“Exactly,” he says, kissing her sweetly, even though her lips are probably salty with tears. “That’s the spirit. We just have to get creative. This is just...a minor speedbump. We’ll figure it out. Together. But for now, is there anything you want?”

Rey sniffs, snivelly and likely gross. But his face, his look of adoration, doesn’t change, and she gives him a tremulous smile and nods to her laptop, a period piece paused mid-scene. 

“Well. I was midway through this, if you want to join?” 

“Sure. Let me put the flowers in water first.” 

When he gets back, she feels a little more clear-headed, like she’s absorbed some of his steadiness and calm. He pulls her into his arms so they’re snuggled together and he shakes out the heating pad cord, so it doesn’t tangle. They settle in, and Rey feels better for the first time that day. 

* * *

Rey is rapt as she watches, whisked away to a dreamy, beautifully-lit countryside, when all of a sudden, Ben reaches forward and pauses the movie. 

She turns to him, snarling—it’s right before her favorite part—but when she looks at his face, he looks so sad, almost like he’s going to be the one crying soon.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she asks, thinking of how prone to guilt he can be. She puts an arm around him protectively. 

“I should have been more gentle,” he bursts out. 

She drops her arm. “Ben,” she says, irritated, rubbing his back. “I don’t like gentle. Unless I’m asking for it specifically. I’m not some delicate flower.” 

“I made you bleed,” he says miserably., elbows on his knees, head in his hand, not looking at her. “I just feel so bad I hurt you. I feel like some kind of monster.” 

“It wasn’t your fault—”

“I think it pretty obviously was—”

“Yeah, but I wanted it. I wanted you to use me. And you did. You’re not a monster. Like you said. We just need to experiment.” 

He turns to her, and she makes an “oop” noise as he pulls her onto him, so she’s sitting sideways on his lap. He holds her close, making an upset sound into her shoulder. 

“Ben. Look at me.” 

He pulls back and looks at her, giving her a hangdog look. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

She plays with some pieces of his hair, pushing them to the other side of his face. 

“Remember how many times I said harder? How much I whined?” she says casually, toying with the strands. “How I came before you did?” 

He frowns at her. “Don’t distract me. I’m feeling guilty right now.” 

“That was what was so annoying,” she says blithely, ignoring him, starting to braid some of his hair. “I liked it so much. You’re just so big. And thick. I think my body just has to get used to being with someone of your size.” 

He frowns at her some more, then gives her the tiniest raise of his lips at her innocent expression, leaning forward to kiss her neck.

“Come on. Admit it. It’s a little funny. Your dick’s too big. We were both too horny. We waited so stupidly long and now we can’t even have sex.”

He finally laughs. 

“Maybe we should switch to normal sex. Gentle. Nice. Respectful.” She makes a disgusted face. 

“Nope. Going to fuck my—” a tiny pause “—girlfriend as mean as she wants.” 

She beams at him. “Exactly. And besides, honestly, it was probably more the speed and the angle. And it’s been a while for me.”

“I mean. It was probably at least a little bit—you did say it was big—”

“Do you need a moment to process all this masculine pride, Ben? Do you want to pee in a circle around me or something?” 

He looks away, looking slightly embarrassed, turning back to her at her giggle. “I really am sorry.”

“I know you are. And thank you.” She leans over to kiss him. “But no more guilt, okay? Let’s both try not to worry and focus on what we can do. But after the movie. This is the climatic scene, Ben. Tom from ‘Succession’ is finally going to find love. As my boyfriend, you’re required to pay attention.” 

As the credits roll, Rey sighs happily, stopping the movie. Ben shifts around uncomfortably before leaning back against the arm of the couch, extending himself along its length, one leg on the ground. He pulls her to sit between his legs and she relaxes against him, pulling the blanket over her and heating pad under her. 

He clears his throat. “So. I maybe had a few ideas during the movie. For what we could do. In the future.” 

She twists her head to frown at him. “Ben! Were you not paying attention? Automatically disliking period pieces is sexism, you know.”

He rolls his eyes. “I liked this guy’s ‘Black Mirror’ episode—”

“Oh, wow, the internet is actually...bad. What an absolutely groundbreaking thesis—”

“You didn’t give it enough of a try. Let me show you the episodes I liked. And anyway, I know how this goes. My mom would watch the old one a bunch and fast forward to the Colin Firth lake scenes.” 

Rey laughs, leaning back against him. “Okay. Tell me your ideas. Maybe we could try one.”

“Really? Are you sure you’re feeling up to that?” 

“Orgasms can help with pain. That’s why they tell you to jerk it during your period.”

“I see. Well. How about I tell you my ideas, and you can tell me to stop whenever you want, and we can just go back to another...Keira Knightley in an old dress movie if that’s what you need. Yeah?”

“Okay,” Rey says, shoving her hand into her sweatpants, kicking the heating pad and blanket away.

She feels him move behind her, to look at what she’s doing. “Do you want me to touch you?”

She considers. She trusts him to be gentle, to do exactly what she wants. But right now, she doesn’t want any risk of unfamiliarity, anything that could inadvertently trigger more pain.

“I think I just want to do this part. But can you touch my boobs and stuff?”

“Sure. Take this off.” 

The order, in that voice again, makes her stomach heat. She pulls off her sweatshirt and tank top and throws it to the armchair, settling back between his thighs. His left arm comes around to circle her belly, anchoring her against him. She feels safe and comfortable. 

“All right. Tell me these ideas.” 

“Well. I don’t want to do anything vagina-related until you’re, like, 110% sure. But until then, you said you wanted some alternate ways for me to take charge?”

Rey nods, running her fingers gently over her folds. She’s not wet yet, but it feels nice, a new sensation down there after the day’s pain. She likes how his hand feels, big and warm on her stomach.

He reaches his other hand up to grab one of her breasts, squeezing it lightly. More arousal hums through her. 

“Answer me, Rey.” He pinches her nipple, hard. 

“Yes!”

He goes back to just holding her breast again. “So there’s the obvious. I could go down on you for a long time. Make you come over and over. Not until you tell me to stop. But until I’m satisfied.” 

Rey sighs, circling her clit. 

Both hands come up over her breasts now. He squeezes, hard, her nipples pressed into his warm palms. “I could see if you like it rough when I play with these.”

One hand keeps squeezing, gripping her harder, and the other releases her breast, then smacks it. The angle’s awkward, but it’s hard enough that she jerks in pleasure, pitching forward a little. He repeats the motion, even harder. Her breasts shake, and she moans. One of his arms comes back around her stomach, gently pulling her back towards him. “Oh. You do like that.” 

The heat between her legs increases. She shifts, pushing up against her hand. She likes the sound of his deep voice behind her. 

“Then, when you’re up to it...when you feel like—sorry, when I feel like—you deserve a punishment, I could spank you. And then go down on you.”

Rey imagines it, her ass red and still stinging as he licks her, his hands “accidentally” digging in painfully to her ass cheeks as he holds her in place. 

“Some other time, we could do something similar to this. Only I could stop you. When you’re like you are now, when you seem like you really want it.” 

He gently pulls her right arm away from her cunt, folding it back and holding it firm against her body. She automatically reaches forward with her left hand, but he grabs that too, easily holding both, even as she wiggles against him. She twists her head, mouth open, looking at him beseechingly. 

“Please, Ben.” 

He tightens his grip for a second, letting her know just how easily he could overpower her, and then releases her. “Yeah, okay,” he says warmly. She shoves her hand down again, rubbing her clit with more pressure.

“And eventually, whenever you feel good enough, we can—very slowly—start trying sex again.”

She’s so warm. She shifts around, wanting to feel his bare skin against hers. 

“Yeah. You said we’d go slow,” Rey says, panting. “Lots of lube.”

“Yeah, but before that. See, I’d have to train you take it—” Fuck, fuck, fuck. For a second her brain fuzzes out for a second at his words. He’s hard now, she can feel him against her ass.

“—I’d start with just one finger. Go slow. And then, very, slowly, we’d add another.” 

She rubs one finger at her entrance, slowly. It feels good. What they're doing has helped, the pain already fading into the background. 

“I’d go slow. Only would give you another when you’re ready.” His hands are back on her breasts, only this time he’s not touching her nipples. He’s just making slow circles around them, getting closer and closer, but never touching. “Even if you beg for it. Which I feel like you will, based on earlier. Would you beg me, you think?”

“Yeah. Probably.” She tries to gently press in one finger, but it hurts. She moves her fingers back to her clit. 

“Right, so I’d have to punish you if you tried to take it too fast. Remember how you begged me? How you wanted me to go harder? Faster?” 

“I did. I just really wanted it,” she sighs. 

“I know. But I’ll have to be firmer with you. You can’t take too much. You can’t be greedy like that, Rey.” 

Impatiently, she squirms, enjoying the gulp when she does it against his erection. She needs his hands on her nipples, he’s teasing her too much—

“I could go have my fingers in you while we watch a movie. Just to get you ready. Work you up to it. Make you want it. Make you so needy.”

I already am, she thinks, I want this, I want everything you’re saying.

“Or,” he says thoughtfully, finally reaching her nipples. She breathes hard staring at how his hand covers her breasts. She pushes back against him, rubbing herself against him. 

She feels a motion behind her, thinks he shakes his head. “Oh, I don’t know.” 

“Ben!” she yells. 

“I mean, if you want me to use you—”

“I do, Ben, I do,” she cries eagerly. He plucks at her nipples, and she looks down, seeing how red he’s made them, and how they disappear between his thumb and middle finger.

He chuckles. “Well. You said something about being on your knees. Maybe next time, when we’re watching a movie, and it’s my pick, instead of sighing and groaning, you could get on your knees and stay there while I watched. We could tilt the screen so you could watch. But you’d have to keep going.” 

She opens her mouth to say something about how that’s a better use of her time than being forced to endure some depressing, unsatisfying movie like “The Revenant” but he keeps talking, and she snaps her mouth shut to listen obediently. 

“You’d have to pay attention to the movie still. Because I do value your opinions. Even if they’re wrong. How does that sound? You think you could take it? Just sitting down there—” he grabs the back of her head, using her hair to force her to look down at the floor next to them, next to his sneaker—”Doing what you’re told?” 

“I’d like that,” she gasps. “I could take it.” 

“Good. I think you’d look so pretty like that Rey.” He releases her roughly, her head bobbing a little. He bends, kissing her shoulder. “Maybe that would teach you to listen to my opinions respectfully. Instead of rolling your eyes when I talk about what movies I like.” 

Rey wiggles back against him, seeking any kind of friction. “A lot of people like Christopher Nolan. You don’t have to feel embarrassed about it, Ben.”

He snorts. “Like I said. You’d have to be respectful. Or maybe,” he says, giving one of her nipples a slap, then a vicious twist. She sighs. “When I’m reading. Because I assume you’ll be staying at my place, right?”

She nods, happily imagining it for a second, waking up next to Ben in his huge-ass bed. He always spends hours researching before he makes any purchase. He probably has really nice sheets.

“I like to read before I go to bed. And now, I could have you on my bed, with my dick down your throat while I do it.” He bounces her breasts in his hand as he talks, and every time he brushes against her nipples, it makes her clench, and she really, really wishes she could just turn around and climb onto him. 

“I’d really, really like that,” she says pathetically. 

“I bet you would,” he says indulgently. “I would too. And while we did that—would you be okay if I fucked your face? I can see you’re touching yourself faster now. You must really want to come. Would you do that while I fucked your face?”

She nods, moving her hand away from her clit, because she wants him to keep talking, to keep telling her what he’s going to make her do. But it’s hard. It feels so good, listening to him, his erection digging into her, and she's so close—

“I’d like to see that. Want to watch you touch yourself and try to come while I fuck your face. It could be awkward—I might accidentally choke you. Maybe you’d struggle a little. It’d be fun to watch you try, though.”

He moves his hands to squeeze both breasts again, shoving them together, and she lets herself fall back against him, giving him better access to do whatever he wants. 

“Or,” he says, like he’s realizing something. “You could use me. You’re desperate enough. I could just let you grind on me until you came. Sit back with a beer and just watch you rub yourself all over me.”

God, Rey, wants that. She wants to rub her clit with his huge, hard dick, grind against it, feel its thickness underneath her, as he just watches her, dark eyes just staring, lips curling in amusement. She could tease them both, rubbing her entrance with him once, until he got impatient—

“And after you’ve come, when you’re all cute and sleepy, I’d make you lay down under me. I’d jerk off—you would have gotten me all wet already, it’d feel so good—and then, I’d come on your face.” 

Fuck it. She moves her fingers back to her clit, rubbing frantically, thrusting up her hips, pushing back against his erection. 

“Would that be okay?” he asks solicitously. When she doesn’t answer, he pulls her hair, the edge of pain glorious, getting her even closer. 

One hand moves from her breast to grab her around her neck. “Rey. Would you let me do all that?” 

She can’t fight it anymore. Just like before, she comes, twitching and thrashing and bucking against him as he calmly squeezes the sides of her neck. She moans his name brokenly as her orgasm crashes over her, the pleasure sweeping away her pain, at least for the moment. 

His hands move to just hold her solidly across against him as she pants. He reaches for her hand, sucking on her fingers, and thrusts against her. She notices the leg on the floor jiggling, like he’s agitated. 

Rey exhales for a big breath and sits up. She turns around, sinking back to fit between his legs, tugging at his pants. Once they’re around his knees, she bends, placing her hands on his thighs. She rubs her hands on them, enjoying the feeling of his hair, the muscles there. She scoots a little closer, bending to nuzzle her face against his erection, mouthing at him through the fabric.

“Rey…” he says, voice tight. He pulls down his boxer briefs, taking out his cock. He gives himself a long, slow pull, staring down at her. 

“Please?” she says, peeking up at him. He’s breathing hard. She’s going to make him fall apart with her mouth, she thinks, mouth watering. She inches forward to lick the tip.

“Nope.” 

“What?” Rey says, disbelieving. She’s close enough to breathe on it. She can smell him. She looks up, trying to blink sexily. “I really want to.”

“I bet you do. But no.” 

She sits back and frowns. “Why?”

“Because,” he says, impossibly smug now. “You’re hurt.”

“Jesus fucking—not there, Ben. C’mon. Let me.” She keeps rubbing his thighs, since at least that meets King Ben’s approval. 

He shakes his head, staring at her mouth as he pumps himself. 

“Fine.” She sighs, peeking up at him, pouting a little. “But I liked you coming in me. You made me feel so full—”

He swears, mouth open, looking a little stunned at what she’s saying. Rey smiles. She’s never been quite this chatty during sex before, but it’s Ben. He makes her want to be obscene, and he makes her feel comfortable enough to do it 

“If you’re not going to—in my mouth,” she continues sadly. “Where are you going to come?”

He grunts, jerking himself faster.

“Can you at least come on me? You could on my—”

That’s what does it. He makes an inarticulate, angry-sounding noise, dropping his dick. “Rey,” he says, and his tone—so severe—makes her look at him a little guiltily. 

He bends down, shoving his face in front of hers, speaking very distinctly. “Yeah, I am going to come on you, Rey. That’s all you get right now. But you’ll have to take it where I want you to, okay?” 

“Okay,” she whispers. 

“So maybe I will get your pretty face all messy—”

She nods eagerly. 

“Rey. Sweetie. I told you,” he says, like she’s being silly. “It’s not your decision.” 

(But it is, his eyes seem to implore. Seriously. She can imagine his anxious voice.) 

(Yeah, yeah, yeah, she tries to signal, giving the tiniest nod. Got it. Now, c’mon. Make me.)

“I’m sorry,” she says, obsequious. “You’re right, Ben.”

“Sit up.” She obeys, and he gets up off the couch, pulling off his sweatpants standing in front of her. He tears off his shirt, tossing it down next to her.

“Hold out your pretty tits for me, okay?” They feel overly sensitive as she cups them, and she already misses the feel of his hands on them. He makes her wait, and she feels a bit self conscious: there’s a long pause where he doesn’t touch herself and he just towers over her, looking at her on display for him, the way she’s offering herself up. She squirms, looking down. 

He grabs her under the chin, yanking her up, making her meet his gaze.

“No, I can’t fuck you right now. But there’s so much of you I want.” He drops her chin and she continues to stare at as he starts fucking his hand, the noise loud. “I’m going to do everything I can to you. Come anywhere I want.” 

She gasps, squeezing her breasts, letting her fingers curl to rub her nipples, feeling heat start to build between her legs.

“See, Rey?” he says, panting, voice strained, watching her as he starts coming, dripping all over her chest. He uses his other hand to yank her hair, pulling her a little closer to him. Smirking at her, he pulls up for a stroke, so some of it gets higher, on her neck, a little on her chin. “There are so many ways I can make you take it.” 

He collapses next to her on the couch, breathing hard. She turns toward him, come dripping down her chest, and he immediately leans forward, giving her a panting, sloppy kiss. They smile at each other when he pulls away.

He stands, rubbing her head gently, like he’s soothing her. He pulls on his clothes and fetches the heating pad, handing it to her. She tucks it back under her, although she’s still enjoying her post-orgasm respite from the pain. 

“Let me go grab something for—” 

She starts to tell him where to go, but he’s already heading toward her closet. He turns back and smiles at her. “I know where the towels are, Rey.” 

When he gets back, he kneels in front of her, dabbing gently with the damp towel. “How are you feeling? When’s the last time you took Advil? You need to stay ahead of the pain window.” 

She giggles at his serious tone, and he seems transfixed by how her breasts bob. “I think I probably need more. Thanks for reminding me.” 

“I can grab some.” He puts the towel down on the table, staring intently between her legs. He still has the braid in his hair, she notices. “Should we alternate? Use ice now?”

Rey looks down. “I mean, the heating pad feels good. I don’t think it’s exactly like the time you had a sore ACL.” 

He smiles, standing and sitting down next to her. She grabs her tank top and sweatshirt and pulls the blanket over her again. “Do you want to shower? Watch something more? Anything I can do?” 

“I’m starving. Can we eat?”

“Yeah. What do you want?”

“Can we do dandan? And—”

“Scallion pancakes? Yeah, sounds good. I can go grab it while you pick the next movie. It’ll probably take you that long to decide, anyway.”

She wrinkles her nose at him, but then can’t keep herself from beaming, ecstatic about how everything has turned out, even with the pain. “Thank you, Ben.” 

When he comes back with the food, she turns on “Point Break.” It turns out that Ben also stopped at the dispensary next to the Chinese place—“They recommended these high-CBD gummies for the pain,” he says, furrowing his brow at the matte packaging and the vowel-less, all lowercase branding—and they both eat one, and she enjoys watching him get a little giggly.

During the movie, Ben teases her about her apparently-lazy chopstick form, and pauses to inform her about the cinematic significance of the chase scene. Then she pauses the movie, to inform him of just how hot Keanu Reeves looks when wet, and he laughs at her impression of Keanu’s voice, pulling her in for a kiss. She can’t drink because of all the Advil, so they sip seltzer and keep kissing, and later he feeds her bites of the ice cream he surprises her with: “Because you’re sick. Now open up for the airplane.” 

He also picked her up epsom salts from the drugstore, and he draws her a bath (he wipes the tub down first, shaking his head at her.) While she soaks, he stirs together milk, eggs and a few tablespoons of rum for French toast the next morning, using some sliced white bread he also picked up at CVS. After, she finishes reading the proposal for the feta book in bed, while he reads her copy of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle next to her, and they talk idly about cheese. 

In the morning, they eat the french toast, and he shows her pictures from his trip. They fool around a little, but not too much because it still hurts. But it’s okay, because they have time, Rey thinks, looking at his smiling face as he shows her a picture of some dim-looking pug. So much time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I always thought friends to lovers was not the trope For Me but I had a ton of fun writing this.
> 
> [ On Twitter](https://twitter.com/kalx58) if you want a glimpse of my brain chaos (eg: Rey's obsession with PBS icon Rick Steves [during their first vacation](https://twitter.com/kalx58/status/1317590087073345536))


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